


The Needs Of The Few

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-28
Updated: 2007-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: In the ‘Twilight’ alternate universe, Malcolm reaches a decision. Canon AU; canon deathfic (3.08 Twilight).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: A/N: This has been festering, incomplete, on my hard drive for a long time, but after reading some of Mareelâ€™s â€™Twilightâ€™ drabbles at Warp 5 recently I was inspired to finish it. Itâ€™s a prequel of sorts to an old story of mine, â€˜One in Six Thousandâ€™.  


* * *

â€œDear god, Travis, has it really been four years?â€ I whispered, blinking back bittersweet tears as I gazed down into his dark liquid eyes. As always his bright, easy smile shone back at me as I reached out and traced my fingertip down one coffee-coloured cheek, imagining I could feel the warmth of his skin rather than the cold glass of the photo frame.

Four years since Captain Archer was grievously injured by a spatial anomaly, his ability to form new memories completely destroyed. Four years since Tâ€™Pol took command of â€˜Enterpriseâ€™ and led us into battle with the Xindi. Four years since the surprise attack that so cruelly took my lover from me. Four years since he fell to the deck in front of my station, the brief glance I could spare him immediately telling me his neck was broken. Four years since I was forced to ignore the searing pain in my heart, to suppress the tears that pricked my eyes, to keep fighting with everything we had and directing our effort to tackle the reptillian and insectoid boarding parties, unable to acknowledge my loss even for a moment.

Yet even then, I couldnâ€™t prevent â€˜Enterpriseâ€™ being damaged beyond all hope of repair.

We gave Travis a funeral, eventually, one befitting his boomer heritage. And I hardened my heart, unable to cry, unable to feel anything but rage and hatred for those who had taken him from me. Now I knew how Trip felt when they killed his sister.

Only a few months later we were forced to watch, impotent, on long range sensors while they destroyed Earth. And still I felt nothing, the deaths of my parents, my sister, and the few others I had left behind barely adding to the burden of grief I already carried.

It was then that Trip came to see me, bearing his last precious bottle of Kentucky bourbon.

â€œI was gonna share this with the capâ€™n,â€ he said sadly, â€œbut heâ€™d only wake up with a hangover and no memory of how he got it, or why. Besides,â€ he shrugged, inviting himself into my quarters, â€œyou look like you need it more.â€

I nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words as he sat down at my desk and poured us both the first of many generous measures.

Strange as it might seem, the healing began that night, for both of us and for our friendship. All the hurt and harm weâ€™d done to each other in the months since the first Xindi attack on Earth faded away as we talked and drank and remembered, silently acknowledging that with our homeworld and our captain gone, and under the command of a Vulcan, even one we both liked and respected, we needed each other.

â€œGod, Malcolm,â€ he said at last, â€œthereâ€™s so few of us left, weâ€™ve gotta take care of each other now.â€

We talked for hours. Trip told me all about Lizzie; about the silly pranks theyâ€™d played on each other as children, about how heâ€™d driven her crazy vetting her boyfriends in high school, about learning to scuba dive together, about building a racing cart together the year before Trip entered Starfleet, and about crying on each otherâ€™s shoulders when they were unlucky in love. And in exchange I told him about Travis; about our first, passionate encounter when he joined my rotation on Jupiter station, about our hopes and fears about being posted together on â€˜Enterpriseâ€™, about his warmth and his sense of humour. About how empty my life was without him.

We both cried a little that night, and it would have been so easy to take comfort in Trip, to allow myself to melt into his arms, to lose myself in his eyes, to draw him down into a tender kiss, to offer him my body. And it would have been just as easy, the next morning, to blame it on the alcohol, to pretend we didnâ€™t remember exactly what had happened. Iâ€™d always found him attractive - something about which Travis had teased me mercilessly. But I refrained, knowing even in my drunken state that it would be a mistake born of our loss and grief, that neither of us was ready to take that final step.

But all that was more than three years ago, and in the intervening time we had collected a ragged convoy of refugees, the last six thousand humans in the galaxy, and made our way to the relative safety of Ceti Alpha Five. And one year ago today, Tâ€™Pol had resigned her commission in order to live with Captain Archer on the surface, leaving Trip as captain of â€˜Enterpriseâ€™ and de facto commander of the fleet - what was left of it after the Xindi had annihilated every colony and ship they could find.

Although I knew I would always love Travis, my feelings for Trip had grown over the years from friendship and a purely physical attraction into something much more profound and important. I was ready to give myself again. I knew that Trip wasnâ€™t indifferent to me, and as his second in command - and as his friend - I could see how stressful and difficult his job could be, how he fought to rein in his temper when dealing with the civilian leaders, how he agonised over how best to allocate our meagre supplies, how much strain our constant vigilance, necessary though it was, placed upon him. As the months went by it had become increasingly evident that he needed more than just my professional support. Now more than ever he needed a release, and someone who cared for him, who loved him. His words came back to me: with so few humans left, it was more important than ever that we care for one another. Yet I knew he would never approach me. It was up to me to take the initiative, to care for my captain, as Tâ€™Pol cared for hers.

Travis continued to smile up at me from the photograph I still held in my hands, as he had so often in life.

â€œYouâ€˜ll always be in my heart, Travis,â€ I told him, pressing my lips against the corner of the frame before setting it back in its place on the shelf above my desk. â€œBut someone else needs me now, and I need to take care of the living.â€

 

THE END


End file.
